


Replaying the Past

by GuileandGall



Series: Free To Be [35]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Inaugural Ball, Tango
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: Remy’s not a maven of style. Her inauguration gown, however, is beautiful and turns many heads while muddling Matt’s.





	Replaying the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in the drafting stages since 2015. I’m pleased to have finally finished this to my satisfaction.

"Oh my god I think I see the president's nipples."

Matt choked on the mouthful of champagne he'd sipped just prior to the gasped statement made by an older woman not more than a few feet from him. _Yes, indeed you did_ , Miller thought as his eyes darted toward the entry way where President Remy McGinnis stood between Ben King and her good friend Shaundi. Ben was scowling, but Shaundi seemed unperturbed. And the president either didn't know or didn't care how sheer the fabric was. The golden skirt made from a light, eye-catching shade of gold was set off perfectly by the top that seemed made up only of a precisely-draped chain creation. She looked amazing, and he would not have noticed the exposure at first glance if the women, who were now chittering about the implications of presidential nudity, had not been so quick to hone in on Remy's rosy pink areolas.

When his eyes found what he considered her most fascinating feature, those big steel blue eyes he thought she looked about as thrilled to be in that ballroom as he was. Though if pressed he might admit the night improved slightly with her arrival. Of course, to get him to admit that verbally would take some intense interrogation. Matt hated formal functions. He typically just found a quiet place where he could dig out his phone and entertain himself, which was precisely what he did on this occasion, mostly.

"Tell me that you're at least watching porn."

The voice startled him. When the MI-6 agent leaned back, turned, and came eye to nipple with the president, quite more literally than he ever intended, his mouth ran dry and his eyes darted upward as quickly as possible.

"No, just … reruns," he said, blanking the screen and pocketing the device.

She shrugged and sat down in an empty chair beside him, glad that she draped one arm across the table before propping her chin in her other hand. With her unintentional modesty, Matt found it a little easier to think and breathe normally. Remy's gesture camouflaged the most comment worthy feature of her gown, at least if the whispers of several of the more conservative attendees at the ball were any indication. There were, however, a few, creepy politicos who expressed their desire help her out of the dress after the evening was said and done.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Not really, the internet speed in this part of the White House seems to be bottlenecked."

"Kinzie," Remy said, toying absently with an empty glass.

"Of course," Matt replied with a twisted scowl.

She groaned when Pierce stopped and looked right at her. He was, as he had been for years, in charge of public relations. "There you are. C'mon."

"I'm not doing it. Seriously, it is not going to happen." Remy leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Yes, you are."

"You dance for shit. These are designer shoes. Not happening. Shaundi will skin me."

Pierce narrowed her eyes at her. "You can dance, right? I think Asha mentioned something," Washington said, dropping a hand on Matt's shoulder.

The programmer looked up at him. "I … uh … kind of," he managed to stammer.

"There you go. Now, take the little geek out there and give the damn press one photo that they are expecting from tonight."

"Oh, fine. I swear." She stood and stalked off. She stopped at the edge of the open expanse of wood in the center of the room and glanced back at Matt expectantly.

"Don't screw this up, Miller. And for God's sake don't comment on the top. She kneed a congressman so hard earlier that I think he choked on his own ball. And I really don't need any more photos of our president kicking men in the groin tonight," Pierce sighed tiredly.

"I'll try to keep that in mind." Matt was not that stupid, though again his mind was drawn to an attribute he should avoid accentuating. When he reached her, the MI-6 agent merely offered her his hand and said, "Shall we?"

Remy gave him a rather sweet grin when she laid her hand in his. As if on cue, the music started. The strings were light and playful, and Matt played the role of escort in a manner he was certain would have made his mother proud. Once in the center of the parquet floor, he stepped in front of her, his hand sliding over her waist and fingers fanning over her bare back. Her other hand rested gently on his shoulder. A moment later, he took the first step.

A part of him wished it hadn’t been a tango. A waltz allowed him to leave a safe distance between them. Or so, he told himself. The steps were simple enough and when he leaned away, her body draped across his with a quiet laugh. Its warmth thrummed his pulse. She moved with the same smoothness she did the last time they’d been on a dance floor. It was so easy and fluid that everything else seemed to drift away, everything except the smile that lit her eyes and the weight of her hand in his.

The longer the song played, the closer she got and stayed to him. Spins and twirls were his only reprieve. The song slowed as it concluded. Matt twirled her once more, lifting her arm in the air as she coiled back into him. The song ended with her leg draped delicately over his knee. Her breathing came in short gasps like his own and he didn’t know how to respond to her blown wide pupils. His pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at her.

Something in his brain remained in working order thankfully because he lowered his hand, spinning her once again to separate them. He offered her his arm, and retreated from the floor.

“Thanks, Matt,” she said at the edge of the floor as Pierce approached.

He nodded at first. Then finally said, “Anytime.”

Pierce slipped his arm around her shoulders and led her off to a table where several people wearing sashes sat. He assumed they must be diplomats. If his brain weren’t teeming with endorphins the agent would have recognized them all, but his mind scattered. Still somewhere in that tango with her.


End file.
